


Running on Fumes

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Revels, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s got no reason to stay, Charlie fumes.  Christmas is done, the new Year already sucks, and everything she has to her name is purring between her legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running on Fumes

**Author's Note:**

> 12 Days of Revels Prompt: No blackout, biker Charlie

 

It wasn’t the sort of thing you could take back.

_ ‘Danny was his  _ son,  _ you weren’t even his  _ child _.’ _

Not that Rachel had really tried to take the words back, she’d just refused to acknowledge they existed. It didn’t matter, the minute she’d said it Charlie had known it was true. So many things about her life that had never quite fit, suddenly made sense. Danny had always been their mother’s favourite, now Charlie knew why.

And she was done. The only reason she’d even come home for Christmas was for Danny, now it was over and the new year already sucked worse than the old.

The motorbike was older than Charlie was. The bones of it belonged to a Triumph Tiger, although all that was left of its original muscle was the teal gas tank and part of the engine. Everything else had been scavenged from junkyards and garages, or arriving in oil-stained brown boxes shipped to her by Miles. Her and Dad had spent weekends working on it in the garden, until Rachel had enrolled Danny for extra-credit tutoring and insisted that Dad take him.

Salt and anger caught in the back of Charlie’s throat as she wheeled the bike out of the shed and into the rain. Because god forbid, right? Couldn’t have Ben wasting his parenting on his wife’s bastard. That wouldn’t be fair.

Charlie swung her leg over the saddle, feeling the weight of the metal against her thighs, and gunned the engine. It growled to life, shockingly loud in the quiet street, and just for a second Charlie glanced at the back door - half wanting her mom to come storming out and drag her back inside.

Except she didn’t. Charlie huffed out a laugh and pulled her helmet on, buckling it under her chin with wet fingers. She pulled out of the drive and turned the bike towards her university, where she was scraping through a degree in computing she wasn’t really all that interested in. Except when she hit her exit on the Skyway, she didn’t take it. 

There was enough gas in her tank to get her halfway to Philly, to the garage that was the return address on her boxes of bike parts. The closest thing she had to a contact for Miles

 

\---------------------------

The Frankenstein of a motorbike parked outside the club was the first thing Bass noticed when he pulled in. It was the sort of ugly, rat bike piece of shit that was only driven by someone who really loved it, and it shouldn’t have been parked in his fucking forecourt.

He was already in a bitch of a mood. Miles had flaked on the Pagan run, leaving Bass to run a van of guns and a key of coke to the other side of the city on his own. When he’d got there, Traggs had decided to get his cock out and wave it around. Three hours, a wad of cash, and what he thought was a cracked knuckle later - he wasn’t in the fucking mood to deal.

Rolling into the lot, he kicked the stand down and stared with hooded eyes at the club. He absently licked the blood from his knuckles, trying to link a rebuilt pet bike with any of the people who had a grudge against him.

Nothing came to mind. He supposed there was one way to find out. Dismounting the Dyna, Monroe unhooked his satchel from the back and sauntered into the club. It was smoky and dimly lit inside, a fug of cigar smoke that never quite cleared clinging to the walls and ceiling.

Monroe tossed the cash to Kip and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

‘Rat bike outside?’

Kip scratched his jaw, nails scraping through the scruff of greyish stubble. ‘Some gash looking for Miles,’ he said. ‘This one’s even younger than Nora was, man’s gonna end up doing a dime for statutory.’

Monroe grunted and leaned over the bar, grabbing a bottle of beer. He chipped the top off against the edge of the bar and took a swig.

‘My brother ends up in jail, you’ll be there to watch his back,’ he said. ‘Did you catch a name?’

Kip had emptied the cash out and was shovelling it into the lockbox. He shrugged. ‘She didn’t throw it.’

His knuckles were still bleeding. Monroe wiped them on his jeans, and remembered his brother had dropped him in the shit today. 

‘She pretty?’ he asked.

Kip snorted. ‘She was looking for Miles?’

Monroe sucked another mouthful of beer from the bottle, the hops mixing with the lingering taste of his own blood. Yeah, his brother needed to learn a lesson, and one that let Monroe blow off some steam at the same time.

‘She comes back, you come get me,’ he said.

‘Before Miles?’

Monroe bared his teeth at him. ‘Which of the two of us holds a grudge longer, Kip?’

Kip snorted acknowledgement of the point and stashed the lockbox behind the bar. Monroe headed back into the chapel, kicking the door shut behind him. It was an hour later when Kip came knocking and saved him from having to actually do the accounts for the garage.

‘Miles’ pretty girl is back,’ he said. ‘Miles ain’t.’

The accounts could wait. Monroe shoved the books over the desk and got up, shrugging his cut on. Ignoring Kip’s disapproving expression, he headed downstairs to see what Miles had dragged home this time. He was planning to fuck her whatever she looked like, but he wouldn’t like to think Miles’ standards had slipped.

Apparently - he admired the long spill of old gold curves and the even longer legs - they hadn’t.

‘If you’re looking for Matheson,’ he said to her back, slouching against the wall and crossing his arms. ‘He’s already got an old lady.’

The girl turned to look at him, blue eyes wary under the straight line of her eyebrows, and wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not looking for a proposal,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a message for him.’

Monroe crossed his arms. ‘What is it?’

She leaned back on the bar, her elbows braced on the scarred wood and her breasts pressing against the thin material of her t-shirt. Monroe usually went for pornstar tits, big enough to smother a man in, but Blondie was pulling off the girl next door look.

‘It’s for him,’ she said.

Monroe laughed, a low rasp of sound, and glanced over his shoulder at Kip. ‘Make yourself scarce, brother,’ he said. It wasn’t a request. Kip pulled his usual ‘bad fucking idea’ face, but did as he was told and made himself scarce. Once they were alone, Monroe turned back to the girl.

She had enough smarts to be nervous, and too much spunk to want to let it show. Monroe liked that. Those big blue eyes watched him warily as he walked over to her, the muscles in her shoulders tensing as he got close enough to touch.

‘Sorry to break it to you,’ he said, running a rough finger down her slim arm from elbow to wrist. Goose bumps followed the path of his finger, a shiver of reaction going through her. ‘Miles had stood you up, blondie. Want to pay him back?’

She licked her lips, the swipe of her tongue hooking his attention. ‘You’re Monroe,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard of you.’

He smiled at her. Women liked him when he smiled, they never really seemed to get it didn’t mean anything. 

‘Good things?’ he asked.

‘No.’

He laughed and leaned on the bar, caging her in with his arms without actually crowding her. Maybe he should back off, if Miles liked her enough to talk to her about Monroe then she might be more than a pretty piece of ass. His eyes flicked down her body quickly. A damn pretty piece of ass. ‘If you want to wait on him…’

The slow smile spreading over her face distracted Monroe for a second. Blondie was cute enough, but that smile made him want her mouth wrapped around his cock  _ now _ . 

‘That’s ok,’ she said, pushing herself up off the bar. Her breasts brushed against his chest as she stood on her tiptoes, lips brushing his jaw. ‘I’m in the mood to piss people off. You look like a good way to do it.’

Yeah, well, Miles should have kept a better eye on this particular ass.

Monroe twisted her hair around his fist like a rope, yanking her head roughly bad. That ridiculously pretty mouth gasped open and he covered it with his, shoving his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like road dust and cola, and she kissed with teeth. Maybe Miles didn’t deserve to get this one back.

He grabbed her ass, squeezing the denim covered curve until she whimpered over his tongue, and dragged her closer to him. His cock pressed against the softness of her stomach, twitching feeling pleasantly through his balls. For a second he juggled whether he wanted Blondie on her knees with that mouth around his cock, or on her back with those legs wrapped around his waist.

Then he decided, fuck it, he’d have both.

Lifting his mouth of hers, he smeared his thumb over her lower lip. ‘Since you ain’t going to tell me what you want Miles for, I got something else you can do with that mouth.’

She widened her eyes at him, pulling a look so innocent that it circled right back round to filthy. ‘Oh? What?’

‘Smart mouth, let’s see if it’s sweet too.’ He used the hand in her hair to urge her down onto her knees in front of him, and waited.

She curled her tongue around her upper lip, hesitating for a second, then she tugged his jeans open and down. His cock was already half-hard, the head twitching towards his stomach. Blondie ran her hands up his thighs, thumbs pressing on the hard muscles, and leaned in to run her tongue along the underside of his cock.

Monroe felt pleasure tighten like a hand between his legs as his cock jerked. He hissed in a breath between his teeth and twisted his hand in her hair. Blondie laughed a low, dirty chuckle, and did it again. Then she wrapped her lips around him, plump and pink as they slid down his shaft. Her mouth was wet and hot against the tight, fine skin, the smooth, hard slide of her teeth against him making him chew the inside of his cheek.

It had been a couple of weeks since he got it wet. He was feeling it, the ache pulling at his balls and ass. If he wanted to stick his cock in a different hole, he needed to cut this short. He pulled his cock out of her mouth - the length of it taut with arousal and wet with spit - and lifted her back to her feet.

The kiss surprised her, but he’d never minded the taste of his own cock in a woman’s mouth. Well, anyone’s cock really. They didn’t have a fucking bouquet, and he’d shared enough women with Miles to know.

Gripping her hips he picked her up, long legs wrapping tight around his waist as she chewed her way down his neck with sharp, pointed kisses, and carried her over to the pool table. He balanced her ass on the edge of it, wrenching her jeans open and down over her curved hips. She grabbed his shoulders for balance and squirmed co-operatively until the skin-tight denim was down to her thighs. 

The plain cotton panties weren’t eactly what he’d expected, but they made up for their lack of flimsy by being soaked through. Monroe smirked.

‘Bet you don’t get that wet for Miles, sweetheart,’ he said.

She pressed her heels against the back of his thighs, urging him closer. ‘Don’t really want to talk about him  _ right  _ now,’ she said, voice ragged and unsteady. ‘Or talk at all. Just fuck me, Monroe.’

‘I can do that,’ he said.

He grabbed a handful of the wet cotton, knuckles pressing against her hot flesh, and wrenched them off. Blondie squeaked, and then laughed as she twisted her hands in his cut.

‘You ripped my panties off?’ she asked, throaty and delighted. This time the grin was huge and delighted, lighting up her whole face with humour. ‘I thought that only happened in books.’

Monroe caught her chin between his fingers and studied that smile for as long as his cock would let him. Then he kissed her like he could taste sunshine along with sex on her lips. ‘That’s me,’ he muttered against her lips. ‘Love’s young dream.’

She laughed at him. Not fucking used to  _ that _ . He would have asked what she thought was so funny, but he had the feeling he wouldn’t like the answer. Grabbing the waistband of her jeans he yanked them down to her calves, and pushed her knees wide. Soft blonde curls parted to reveal wet, pink flesh. He reached down and gripped his cock, pleasure flicking up into his balls and gut, and pressed the head against the wet slit of her opening. She toed her sneakers off, kicking the knotted jeans off her ankles.

Monroe shifted his hands to her hips, skin soft and warm against his palms, and shoved into her. Fuck, she was tight. She yelped, biting her lower lip hard. For a second he felt a distant tweak that might have been guilt. It didn’t last long. He tipped Blondie back onto the table, still buried balls deep in her, and pressed a wet kiss to her breast. His teeth caught the nub of her nipple and tugged, his tongue flicking the tender  When she was making low, eager noises, one hand tangled in his hair and tugging, he thrust into her again. It was hard enough to jolt the table, but this time she arched her hips up to meet him.

Her body flexed around him, squeezing his cock until it ached. Slim strong fingers dug into his shoulders and her legs around his hips urged him deeper and harder.

He fucked her hard enough to bruise, scraping stubble rash over her throat as he panted rough words of encouragement against her throat. She clawed his back and sucked bruises into his throat, laughing at his growls. 

What the fuck, he decided raggedly, Miles should have kept his date if he wanted to keep his girl.

She threw her head back, golden hair splaying over the green baize, and came with a gasp and a ragged curse word on her lips. It pissed Monroe off for a minute, he kinda wanted her screaming his name, but then the fluttering spasms of her pussy wrung his orgasm out of him hard enough to nearly break the fucking table.

Sprawled on top of her, bodies sticky with sweat, he still heard the familiar growl of his brother’s bike. He propped himself up on his elbows, the girl’s hair under his arms, and smirked at the door.

‘Hey, Miles,’ he drawled as his brother stalked in, rangy and dark in road-stained denim and road-rashed leathers. ‘You were late - again - so we started without you.’

The girl leaned her head back, squinting at the upside Miles she had to be looking at. ‘Hey, Uncle Miles,’ she said. ‘You heard from mom?’

Miles stared at her, confusion washing over his face. ‘Charlie?’

Ah fuck, Monroe thought. He might have pissed Miles off more than he planned.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Charlie buttoned her jeans. There wasn’t much she could do about the wet mouth prints making her t-shirt cling to her skin. She ached and itched under her clothes, and she really needed to find a pharmacy that sold Plan B in the morning. One thing she wasn’t, was sorry.

‘Fuck sake, Miles,’ she said. ‘You can’t care that much, you haven’t seen me since I was four.’

Miles shook his hand and spat blood on the floor. ‘You’re my fuckin’ niece, what the fuck are you doing banging some fucking pervert in a run down club?’

Charlie glanced at Monroe. He was holding a cold bottle of beer to his swelling eye.

‘I felt like it,’ she shrugged. ‘He’s hot, and I figured it would piss you off.’

He shoved his battered hands through his hair, shaking his head in black disbelief. ‘What the fuck do you think Ben’s going to think when he finds out? You think this is what he wants for you?’

Oh. Oh, mom, Charlie thought bleakly. She was still pissed off, but now there was a sour undercurrent of sorrow and regret to it.

‘I think Dad’s dead, Uncle Miles,’ she said. ‘I thought you knew.

Miles stared at her, face blank and grey-looking. It was Monroe who spoke, dropping the bottle from his eye. ‘Ben’s dead?’ he said. ‘Jesus. Miles, I didn’t...I didn’t know.’

After a second Miles shook himself. ‘Yeah, well, I suppose I can’t blame Rachel,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen him since...since you were four. When’s the funeral.’

‘Two years ago,’ Charlie said, wincing as the words came out. ‘I’m sorry, Miles. Mom said she told you.’

‘Fuck.’

He sat down hard in a scarred chair, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. Charlie hesitated, but she hadn’t  _ just  _ come here to bang the most inappropriate man she could find. She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans.

‘Mom said something else, she said that Dad...she said that Ben wasn’t my dad. Know anything about that, Miles?’

Whiskey brown eyes lifted to her face, grief and a sort of bleak dread filling them. Not flattering, but then he had just seen her getting fucked on a table. Not the sort of thing anyone wanted to see their-

‘You’re my daughter?’ he said. Then he swung around to glare at Monroe. ‘You fucked my  _ daughter?’ _

Monroe held up his hands, beer dangling loosely from his fingers. ‘Hey, I thought she was just your side piece.’


End file.
